Silence Is Golden
by cto10121
Summary: It's been a week since Romeo's and Juliette's deaths. Benvolio, however, is inconsolable and guilt ridden. That is, until a certain silent redhead gives him surprising comfort. Benvolio/Mute.


**A/N: First of all, yes, I'm crazy. Somehow watching and rewatching "Les Beaux, Les Laids" made my mind wander…but when I couldn't get that pairing out of my head I decided to write it out. I may be weird in choosing this pairing, mostly because Danni34 thought of it as well (no offense to you, Abbs) so I have no idea if you'll "aww" and squeal or just dismiss this. Just as well; but I think the pairing is cute.**

**As said in the summary, (to those who have no idea) this is from "Romeo et Juliette: de la Haine a l'Amour," comédie musicale by Gérard Presgurvic (*bowing down to his gloriousness*) and so therefore a little different from Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet. Whether those differences puzzle you or not remains to be seen.**

**Also, Rated T for one or two swear words, don't remember how many. But anyway, e****njoy. :D**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any characters mentioned. Not even Le Muette. "Romeo & Juliette" belongs to Gérard Presgurvic. *Winces* Whoever said that words can never hurt you was a liar…**

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Silence Is Golden

_Plink. Plink. Plink._

The staccato drops of water were annoyingly loud in the buzzing chatter of the bar. Benvolio tried to ignore them and was rewarded for his endeavors by a particularly large cold drop plopping on his neck, stinging like a mosquito bite.

"Damned roof is leaking again," muttered the bartender, viciously throwing down the dirty cloth. "Sorry, mate," he said, carelessly apologetic.

Benvolio shrugged, exhaling sharply as he continued to nurse his drink. He wasn't the only one in the world trying to drown his sorrows in a pool of whiskey, but he was perhaps the only one not succeeding. Instead he wondered fleetingly of what Mercutio would say about the leaking. Probably a witty quip or some other and he would laugh and Romeo would roll his eyes, looking carelessly beautiful as always. His heart sank when he realized that he would never hear another one of Mercutio's jokes again.

It was strange how life kept on going after one's world was destroyed, down to the very foundations upon which it was built. After Romeo and Juliette's deaths (Benvolio chose a much kinder euphemism for what was more a mutual suicide) the impossible happened and the feud between the Capulets and Montagues finally ended, along with the heat wave that had plague Verona for some weeks. The result was a gloomy, awkward peace and, strangely, several inches of rainfall. It would have been that after years and years of hatred and detestation the Capulets and Montagues would have found themselves at a loss on how to act around one another. As it was, the additional awkwardness and tension was avoided due to Romeo and Juliette's funeral.

It was a very somber, dignified affair, if quickly arranged soon after their discovery. That morning dawned on them gray and clear, the sun refusing to show its head. The whole town showed up for the affair, the uninvited with the invited, mourning along with the Capulets and Montagues. Somehow mourning together, as one, sharing same and equal grief over their beloved ones, brought a sense of comradeship and equality, and all the hate seemed to seep away silently. The Prince was there to pay his respects, regal and emulating power even in mourning. Some secret satisfaction he must have had, to see the citizens of Verona were finally united in this one human grief.

And Benvolio got to see his old friend and wife one last time before they were interred. Romeo, dark and handsome as ever, his beatific countenance smooth and serene…Juliette, more angelic and radiant than in the precious few times Benvolio had seen her. But he could only dimly recall their funeral. What had impressed upon him the most was when they were found in Capulet tomb…Romeo, paler than he'd ever seen him, with Juliette and a blood-stained dagger by his side, a pool of blood oozing from Juliette's stomach, slowly staining the grimy floor…

But on that day they were immaculate, decked in their best array. Juliette's wound had been neatly stitched and not a speck of red appeared on her ivory skin. They looked perfect except for that slowly creeping sickly color that had clearly begun to dominate their faces. That dispelled any wistful fantasy about them merely sleeping, even an eternal sleep.

And the rains came gently after their interment, neatly seeping into the scarred earth. The rains then fell into a more steady rhythm, sometimes with short periods of cessation. Sometimes it would sprinkle and other times it would fall hard and sheet-like. Like today.

It hasn't let up even a little bit. Benvolio thought Verona would soon be flooded with rain if it kept up. He felt restless, and wished he could be out in the streets again. The streets, that had once been his refuge and home, had turned empty afterwards, but at least it was better than this crowded smoky bar and the surreptitious glances thrown at him when they thought he wasn't looking. The pain and memories seemed sharper and clearer, the opposite of what brandy was supposed to do; instead of helping him forget the alcohol only served to better remember.

Benvolio then gave up, throwing some bills on the counter and walking out. He fleetingly wished the rain would at least let up some, but his hopes sank as he saw the shimmering curtain of rain and the relentless drum-like pounding. Well, Benvolio thought idly, leaning back against the front of the bar, at least this is better than inside. He would have to wait until the rain lessened. Until the pain gradually numbed. Until the memories that were now plaguing him would someday be buried into some deep recess of his unconsciousness, and with time the fresh and stinging qualities would dissolve into sweet, nostalgic melancholy.

Benvolio had the feeling that he would be waiting a long time.

Not soon after that depressing thought, something in the rain caught his eye. It looked sort of like a bright red flame. But that couldn't be. He wasn't let to speculate much longer, for the flame seemed to draw nearer until it broke through the curtain of rain, stumbling under the cover of the bar. Only, of course, it wasn't a flame but a petite woman with flaming red wet hair, soaked to the skin. It was the hair that caught Benvolio's attention...the very familiar red hair. It suddenly hit him – she was that servant girl with the Nurse that day when the Nurse was looking for Romeo to – Benvolio now realized – relay a message back to Juliette. He and Mercutio had teased them mercilessly and rather cruelly until Romeo came and interceded on what was then their fun. How long ago that seemed, almost ages! Benvolio felt like an old man looking on his younger self and his youth's follies and stupidities. And…damn it, what did the Nurse call her?

A spark of remembrance. "Muette."

The word came unbidden to his lips before he could restrain it. Thankfully the Muette didn't get her title for nothing and so didn't hear. In fact, she didn't seem to notice Benvolio was there or that she had company at all. She plopped down to the floor, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso and her knees drawn against her chest. Benvolio, feeling extremely embarrassed, turned away, wishing the Muette would go away. But the seconds lengthened and the Muette was still there, still trembling, and Benvolio couldn't ignore that growing, uncomfortable feeling of pity for her any longer. He shrugged out of his black leather jacket that he had unearthed last winter and, with a hesitant tap on her shoulder, offered her the jacket. The Muette jumped, her head lifted enough to see the hand holding the proffered jacket. Her countenance brightened at this gesture…until her eyes trailed up the hand to Benvolio's face.

Benvolio inwardly groaned as she recoiled away from him, her countenance suddenly closed, her eyes wary. He cursed himself for being so foolish as to not realize that his attentions might not be well received due to Mercutio's and his previous cruelty. A feeling that was not at all unlike shame started to blossom in the pit of his stomach, and of course like all his reactions to unwelcome feelings he was brusquer than he intended.

"Look, I'm no good with this shit," he said bluntly, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I've done a lot of stupid things that I regret but it's no use in harping on it. Just consider whatever this is an apology and accept it, for God's sake."

In a way it was fortunate that he was talking to a deaf-mute, Benvolio mused dryly (otherwise he would have never given that strange apology, since never in his life had he apologized for anything to anyone). A normal woman would have taken his coarse remark as offense. The Muette, however, merely stared into Benvolio's face, long enough to make him uncomfortable. Apparently his apologetic, awkward, tense expression seemed sincere for she tentatively – as though at any moment she would withdraw his offer – took the jacket, wrapping it clumsily around her. She looked at Benvolio, gave a small, though perceptible smile, and gave a series of hand gesticulations that Benvolio took as a 'thank you'.

"Don't mention it," answered Benvolio, then almost smiled at the irony. For a moment it was quiet except for the pounding rain. Benvolio liked the languid silence at first until a growing curiosity for the Muette propelled him – absurdly – to talk.

"So…wonder what you were doing out in the streets?" Benvolio asked, not really waiting for an actual answer.

However the Muette, who had turned her head in his direction, caught his lips moving. She cocked her head, then made a strange gesture with her arms, as though holding an imaginary baby.

"Baby?" Benvolio frowned in confusion

To his surprise, the Muette shook her head. She then made a rocking motion with her arms, tilting her hands towards her chest so that it looked like –

"Nursing? Oh," Benvolio realized. "The Nurse. You were with her and then, what? You lost her?"

Again the Muette responded by nodding her head.

"How do you know what I'm saying?" he asked her, curious because his hands were in his pockets and he wasn't communicating anything with them.

The Muette frowned then in puzzlement, her eyes narrowing as if in concentration. It was then that Benvolio noticed that she wasn't precisely looking at him as much as his lips.

"You can read lips?" Benvolio asked slowly, enunciating carefully.

The Muette did a motion that Benvolio interpreted as 'more or less'.

"That explains things," muttered Benvolio. He couldn't help feeling that if someone had told himself of a week ago that on a rainy day he'd be at some bar attempting conversation with a deaf-mute who served the Capulets he would have cracked a rib from laughing. Then again, if someone had told him two weeks ago that Romeo would fall madly in love with Juliette Capulet…well, Mercutio would have had to haul his body to the madhouse.

"How strange that everything's changed," said Benvolio aloud, half to himself and half to the Muette. "For me, at least. And I suppose for many people as well." He looked down at the Muette. "Has anything changed for you?"

The Muette looked blankly at him, blinking owlishly.

"Never mind," said Benvolio, turning away to look at the curtain of falling rain. "It was a stupid question anyway. You knew Juliette. Besides, everyone's been affected someway or another. You did see Romeo, right?"

Benvolio wasn't expecting a response but the Muette's countenance flickered in recognition, and she – with a somewhat sad air – did a hand gesture that Benvolio recognized. Mercutio, who had known sign language, had correctly interpreted the Muette's question that day when she went asking for Romeo.

"Yeah, Romeo," he said gloomily, imitating that sign for his fallen friend, the only thing left of him. "You never known him, but he was a great friend. Went mad at the end, but still. He was like a brother to me. And Mercutio. I bet that if you have known him a little longer you would have fallen for him. You probably did. He has that effect on women. Too much of a dreamer for his own good but he knew how to have fun. As a game we used to look at women and determine which girls would fall for each of us. With Mercutio it was the bold ones in search for a bit of fun. With Romeo it was the idealistic ones who fell for his 'angel's face' as they coin it. And I…well, I was always honest. I didn't incur their wrath like Mercutio often did or unintentionally break their hearts like Romeo did. Romeo was always one lucky son of a bitch. He didn't chase women like we did – women chased him. If we hung around him for long enough the chits would start wandering to him like bees to honey. It was lucky for us then that Romeo was fastidious. He was always looking for _the_ woman for him, that one true love. He was very careless in his search and he left many broken hearts in his wake. And…" He paused. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

The Muette hesitated, then shook her head. Benvolio had a wild, incomprehensible urge to laugh at the apologetic confusion in the Muette's oval face.

"I don't blame you," Benvolio continued idly. "It must be a bit nice to be deaf-mute. Then you don't have to listen to people's ramblings. I tend to ramble a lot. Mercutio always made fun of me for that. He said I talked of everything while talking about nothing. He much preferred to do these weird, often dangerous stunts. Like that summer after my thirteenth birthday Mercutio got it into his head that we had to climb Capulet's orchard wall to become actual men. Romeo and I went along because we were too stupid to realize Mercutio was talking shit. In the end only Romeo was able to climb the wall and get into Capulet orchard. Mercutio and I were so jealous, you wouldn't believe it. And the prat wouldn't stop boasting about it until we finally made him shut up. He climbed that wall after Capulet's ball, for his nightly rendezvous with Juliette…"

And so Benvolio continued to talk about the stupid things he, Mercutio, and Romeo did, talking more than he'd ever talked in days. He talked about the time when Romeo decided to grow out his hair and how Lady Montague screamed at him hoarse (it was also that time when girls mysteriously started noticing him). He talked about how Mercutio was the first of them to have sex (and the fact that Romeo never slept with anyone before Juliette; his relationships were always too short for any intimacy beyond kissing and Romeo always claimed that he never found anyone worth sleeping with…to which Benvolio bluntly added a "Yeah, right"). He talked about when Mercutio first started to smoke and continued to until his death (he and Romeo never did take up the habit) and even when he and Romeo met Mercutio for the first time (Romeo and Benvolio, at the tender of age of eight, were in a rough spot of trouble with some Capulet bullies and Mercutio came to their rescue. The result was that they were all beaten into a pulp, their male egos were wounded, and getting their revenge).

His thoughts then began to trail to personalities: Mercutio's drawling sarcasm, Romeo's melancholy (Mercutio thought it was because Romeo didn't get laid yet), Lady Montague's protectiveness, his own laidback nature, Romeo's phobia of balls tying in with his utter inability to dance (at twelve years old he had been invited to a birthday party where while attempting to dance he tripped and fell into the cake – it took all of Benvolio's and Mercutio's persuasive tactics to lure Romeo to parties again), and Mercutio's astounding libido (even taking on a permanent lover), and of Mercutio's detestation of Tybalt, whom he was always at odds with. He then began talking about more recent events: Romeo's foreboding feeling about Capulet's ball (at the time forgotten, but now Benvolio grimly remembered), Mercutio's and the Nurse's strange enmity, and even the argument he and Mercutio had with Romeo about him loving Juliette. Then about feelings…the lovestruck glint in Romeo's eyes when he told them about Juliette…the murderous expression on Mercutio's face as he battled against Tybalt…how he felt when Mercutio died…the agony of telling Romeo and Juliette's supposed death and watch his dearest friend convert into a living corpse, the spark of life vanishing from his dark eyes…

He talked freely, vehemently, coarsely, even crudely, sometimes still, sometimes pacing, sometimes sitting down, and other times standing up, quick, slow, randomly, coherently, irrelevant, relevant, talking about everything and nothing. And all through it the Muette watched Benvolio, his lips going a mile a minute, an awed expression dawning on her pretty features, like sunrise.

Then, just as quickly as the tempest began it stopped. There was complete silence between the two. Benvolio sat beside the Muette, absolutely still and quiet. The Muette waited, watching him intently.

"I killed them, Muette," he began slowly in a hoarse voice, staring fixedly at a spot in the ground. "My friend and your mistress. If I had maybe been more diplomatic with Romeo, or stopped him somehow…maybe he would have seen Juliette wake up and escape from Verona. Maybe even before that – if I'd stopped him from killing Tybalt. Romeo's always been so passionate and unthinking. I should have known that he'd avenge Mercutio. I should have done something. I should have –"

Benvolio broke off when the Muette suddenly snapped her fingers in front of his face. He looked at her and was surprised to see a fierce, almost angry expression on the Muette's usually mild countenance. She began a flurry of rapid gesticulations in the air, her red head shaking back and forth. Benvolio had no idea what she was specifically saying but he knew that she was denying his claim.

"Don't deny the responsibility I had," he told her. "I as much as killed Romeo, and Juliette in the process."

The Muette shook her head vehemently, growing more agitated. She leaned forward and started "talking" again, even poking him in the chest. Benvolio marveled at her, a red, silent fury, her pretty face vivid with expression. Her brown eyes, too dull to be particularly noticeable, were visibly brightened.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" said Benvolio, more curious than amused. "All right, all right – it's _not _my fault."

Luckily the Muette didn't seem to notice the lack of conviction in his easy remark, for she calmed down, even flashing him a satisfied grin. Benvolio blinked at this rapid change of demeanor, and therefore was startled when all of a sudden the Muette's grin changed joyful, and quicker than one could blink she was on her feet and tugging Benvolio to get up as well.

"What the –" Benvolio cut off, for he saw the cause of the Muette's elation. The rain had finally stopped and a few of the sun's benign rays were peeking out from the oppressive clouds, bathing the town in its warm, golden light.

"Oh" was Benvolio could manage. A mixture of feelings accompanied this revelation, none of which made sense. How can he be irrationally happy at the sight of the sun, yet feel his heart sink with that same irrationality?

The Muette, however, was beside herself in glee, twirling around once in jubilation. Then almost as quick as this joy arrived it leeched out of her, and her expression fell. She looked up and down the deserted street, then back at Benvolio, almost reluctantly. Benvolio's spirits were dampened even further.

"You have to go," he realized. "The Nurse is probably looking for you."

It made no sense for him to feel so loath to part with the Muette. After all, he barely knew her. She – if one forgot the fact that he did spill his secrets and feelings to her – barely knew him, except for the fact that he talked too much. And she didn't speak at all. But perhaps there was something comforting about the Muette's silent company.

The Muette slowly nodded, looking distracted. She snapped out of it, though, and with a sudden start handed Benvolio back his jacket.

"Nah, you can keep it," he said, shaking his head. The Muette smiled wryly, pointed at some point in the horizon, then at herself, and mimed slitting her throat.

"Oh that's right," Benvolio realized, after a few puzzled seconds. "The Nurse would want to know. All right then, if you insist." And with that he accepted back the jacket. They stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say (or mime). Finally the Mute raised a hand in farewell, smiling at him almost shyly, and skipped away into the street. Benvolio gave a short wave before put his hands back in his pockets, watching the Muette go, feeling emptier than he did before he went into that bar to get thoroughly wasted.

Benvolio sighed, then walked into the street, vaguely noticing the people of Verona coming out, seeing the sunshine for the first time in days. He was about to turn the corner when he suddenly heard footsteps behind him growing louder. He turned around and saw the Muette running towards him, stopping breathlessly at his feet.

"What is it?" Benvolio asked, startled and curious.

The Muette hesitated, her expression unsure. Then she shook her head, almost as if to herself, before going on tiptoe and planting a kiss on Benvolio's left cheek. She leaned back, her face flushing the color of her hair, before hurrying off.

For one very long moment that could have been ages Benvolio simply stood there, watching her disappear, his hand touching the burning spot. Then he slowly turned and started walking in a daze, for once his thoughts free of gloom and repressed memories, only seeing in his mind's eye that flash of familiar, flaming red hair…

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**A/N: Please review with your thoughts. :D By the way, this is my first attempt at anything remotely fluffy…**

**Muette = Mute (though it should be obvious) **


End file.
